Happenstance
by Ijemanja
Summary: This is how it happens. HouseCuddy.


Notes: This is based on promo pics for the upcoming ep 'All In'. Not sure if this qualifies for a spoiler warning, since I don't know anything about the episode itself except what was shown in those three shots. This is pure speculation. But just in case...

Spoiler Warning: If you don't want to know anything about certain things that happen in the future episode 'All In', then stop reading right now.

HAPPENSTANCE

by Ijemanja

x

You wake up with last night's makeup on your face and last night's product in your hair and a hand on your stomach that isn't your own.

Little things catch your attention.

Warm, shallow breathing against your bare shoulder.

Grey morning light filtering in through partly closed curtains glinting off the silver handle of a cane.

The sting of what might just be stubble burn on the inside of your thighs.

A puddle of blue velvet staining the carpet by the bed.

You take note of all these details, add them up in your head.

This is how it happens.

x

You never really notice how tall a man is until you're pulling his mouth down to yours and still you need to be on tiptoes just to meet somewhere in the middle.

It's like remembering the words to a song you haven't heard in years, and it's all coming back to you, standing in your foyer with his stubble rough against your lips. He's tall. House is tall, you think, as you smooth the lapels of his jacket with your palms and step back.

'After you. I think you know the way.'

'Thought it'd be more polite to pretend I didn't.'

You give him a push and turn back to lock the front door before following him down the hallway. In the bedroom you brush past him in the dark to switch on a lamp, and in the low light he finds your zipper and eases it down. His hands are warm against your skin, confident as they push the straps off your shoulders.

For once, there are better things on your mind than your dry cleaning bill when you step out of your dress.

x

You've spent the last half hour making small talk and thanking people for their generosity. Now things are winding down and he watches you approach, propped up casually against the bar.

'You're still here.'

'Since my ride abandoned me about an hour ago this shouldn't be much of a surprise.'

It isn't, of course. Nothing about this is a surprise. You lean an elbow on the bar beside his and face the room. The gaming tables are being packed away, people are leaving, going home. There's an inevitability about it all.

'James probably thought you were capable of finding your own way home,' you say.

'Think if I stand here looking pathetic enough some kind soul might offer me a ride?'

'Isn't that sleazy brunette still around here somewhere?'

'Is that a trick question?' he asks, looking you up and down.

'You really are pathetic, aren't you? Come on,' you say, trying to maintain a disapproving glare and failing utterly, 'You're on my way.'

He isn't, and you both know it. But you've bluffed your way through more than a few hands tonight. Once more won't hurt.

x

You smile in triumph when Dr Wilson is seen disappearing into the cloakroom with an attractive red-head because this is one bet you really didn't want to lose. You turn and look for House. It's time for him to pay up.

Several drinks have helped him towards a state of good-natured compliance, and he doesn't put up much of a fuss when you usher him towards the piano in the corner.

He doesn't seem to mind you hovering at his shoulder, either, as he starts to play. Nor when you sink down onto the bench beside him.

'For the record,' he rumbles low enough for your ears only, 'I do not take requests.'

You tell him to play whatever he wants, and watch his fingers, artful, confident, as they travel over the keys. You watch his face, relaxed, smiling - and you smile too, simply because he's enjoying himself, his natural sense of showmanship taking over.

He's so talented. And you think about that, about genius, and wonder when it stopped being an enviable trait and became something else entirely.

You won't be able to say, afterwards, what it was he played. You're too busy watching him, and you don't think to ask what it's called. Something lovely and familiar, that's what you'll tell people.

x

'It looks like your date might be leaving with someone else.'

'The brunette?' He turns to look.

'Redhead.'

For a moment you watch Wilson turning on the charm.

'He's flirting with the redhead. He'll go home with the brunette.'

As you look on, a tall woman with a sleek chestnut bob and a neckline inappropriate even by your standards saunters up and attempts to regain the oncologist's attention.

'Based on what? You're the one with the established proclivity for brunettes.'

It's a bold thing to say, but then, that's the kind of mood you're in - the kind of mood he puts you in. He responds to the challenge in your voice, just like you knew he would.

'I'll let you in on a secret.' His eyes travel over the carefully styled curls framing your face, and then drift lower. 'It's never about hair colour.'

'What's it about, then?'

'Mostly? It's about what you can afford.'

You make a face at his cynicism. 'Of course, it's all about money.'

'Says the woman who's been chatting up potential donors all night.'

'I'm talking to you, aren't I?'

'Yeah, why is that?'

You make another face, a different one this time, and switch back to a neutral topic.

'I still say it'll be the redhead.'

'Care to make it interesting?'

'Tonight hasn't been interesting enough for you already?'

There's a look in his eyes just before he answers that tells you things are only just getting started.

x

You're working the room when an overly-manicured socialite takes your arm and nods despairingly towards House and Wilson, heads together over their scotch and cigars.

'Why is it always the good looking ones?' she moans.

Which you make sure to mention once the next round is underway.

'People make me sad,' House responds. 'Just because two men happen to be living together, spend all their free time together and show up at a formal function hanging off each other's arms, that's no reason to think there's anything going on except good old fashioned -'

'Denial?' you break in sweetly.

He leans across the table, smoke curling upwards from the cigar in his hand. 'Just between us, I'm trying to keep up appearances for his sake.' He jerks his head back towards Wilson, who rolls his eyes. 'Terminal closet case. Don't know what I'm going to do with him.'

'You could start by playing the damn game. It's your call,' Wilson points out.

House just sits back and sticks the cigar in his mouth. 'He's so needy.'

x

You're in blue tonight and the sales assistant was right, it does bring out your eyes. But you didn't chose this dress for the colour - you just like the way it feels, the way it drapes over your hips. You like the looks you've been getting since you walked in the door. It's nice to know you haven't lost your touch.

'What's your opinion on strip poker?'

This is the way House greets you, appearing suddenly at your side with an inappropriate comment. Wilson is with him, of course, and the two of them are dressed to the nines and reasonably on time, and you know who you have to thank for that.

House inclines his head towards his long-suffering friend. 'He thinks it'll be awkward with all these people standing around watching, but I know I can count on you and your exhibitionist tendencies. Nice dress, by the way.'

'Try to remember this is a charity event,' you tell him, 'Which means no strip poker - or any other activity, for that matter, which might result in you undressing. We want people to give us their money, not run in fear.'

'Or call the police,' Wilson adds.

House is unimpressed and the two of you get to watch in amusement as he stalks off towards the bar. He's nothing if not predictable.

You turn to Wilson with a plea. 'Could you try to keep him out of trouble tonight?'

'I'm a doctor, not a miracle worker,' he quips, but makes his way dutifully over to rejoin House.

You sigh, watching him go, but you're not really worried about House. You're thinking, instead, about the kind of opportunities an event like this presents - professional and personal alike. Your obligations as dean of medicine aren't so great that you can't enjoy yourself a little.

You accept a glass of wine from a passing waiter and survey the room and the night stretches out before you.

Anything might happen.

end


End file.
